Youji Unloveable
by PinkWhirlWind
Summary: Youji can't explain his dreams and this causes a fight between Aya and him. When Youji disappears... Aya is left to live with his own words, and his burning need to find his lover again.
1. Default Chapter

Youji Unlovable

by Nix Winter

Disclaimer: I don't own Weiss Kruez. The Weiss Project does and I'm grateful to them for creating something so wonderful to play with.

Notes: I'm rewriting this story. I have renewed my faith in Aya and Youji. My Youji muse has been so lonely.

Youji pulled the helmet off, bleach blonde hair falling around his face in soft curves. In Aya's dream Youji moved with the same exact grace that he had in real life. They were in the United States, early fall, far to the north and the leaves had been dozens of colors. Youji had taken to the open spaces of the north west like a flower opening. He'd put on a little muscle, and while Aya had never noticed the nervous tension to Youji when they'd been in Tokyo, or he had, but he'd never imagined Youji without it - seeing his blond lover without that nervous tightness had etched that wide and brilliant smile deeply into Aya's heart.

Deep enough to bleed. With a gasp he found himself sitting in grayness, hands clenching sheets like shadows under the dim light filtering through the blinds. It had been three weeks since he'd seen Youji that day.

Krittiker didn't know where he was and Aya believed them. The local law enforcement didn't know where Hiro Suzuki had gone. Wandered off somewhere, maybe. Wasn't that how those homosexual things went? As Najiro Watsuki, Aya wasn't going home till he found some trace of Youji.

The mission they'd come for had been accomplished. Even Manx had suggested that maybe Youji had just decided he liked America.

Aya threw the damp sheet back and drew his knees up, head resting on them, arms around them. Youji would not have left him.

It wasn't like they hadn't fought before this. It wasn't the first fight they'd had.

It wasn't the first time Aya had said stupid things to his lover.

He wasn't even sure what the fight had started over. Something small.

"You had a nightmare last night. What was it about?"

"I don't know, Aya. Really. It's alright." Youji had smiled that softly mysterious smile, like a wisp of thought carried away on a breeze.

"I'm your lover. I need to know."

"I don't want to talk about it. We all have nightmares."

They did.

Aya hadn't meant what he said. Face pressed to his knees, tears running down his legs, he swore to the gods, to his ancestors, to all the American politicians that he hadn't meant it. Somehow he was afraid to go home too, afraid to leave this place least Youji not know where to find him and come home to him.

They'd been lovers so long. Before Aya-chan woke up, they'd been lovers.

Youji would come back to him. Youji wasn't unlovable as Aya had accused him. Youji had to know he hadn't meant it.

Aya rose, the moonlight less gray now, laying silver across scars that covered his body and he reached for his book of poetry, only to find himself carrying to the window, to look out as slender fingers pushed open the yellowing plastic slats. Youji was alive. He was out there - somewhere.

Tomorrow, Aya was going to find him tomorrow. It was such a shallow hope and yet Aya clung to it with all his being as he opened up this book and read one poem that Youji had particularly liked, even though it had seemed so forlorn to Aya at the time.

_I can see the twilight _

_just a few years away_

_softly blue, promises turned to mist_

_Where is my love?_

_Where is everlasting truth?_

_Somewhere missed_

_Somewhere of_

_where I've not been_

_and my hands_

_twilight shows on them_

_little lines like the feathers of time_

_These hands have done some good_

_These hands have done some wicked_

_and tonight, my love_

_where ever you are_

_I'm not afraid of the twilight_

_My hands can type still_

_and maybe when you pass by_

_you'll see my words and know_

_how much I loved you_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Still don't own Weiss Kruez

Three weeks could be a very long time. Youji's cheeks were drawn in and as the door opened he barely lifted his head from the concrete wall. His hair clung to him and green eyes only half opened.

In Japanese a male voice taunted, "We knew you had someone else with you. We have her now."

Youji laid his head back against the wall. They were lying. Aya, his red headed splendor, had gone home. It was good. Aya would be safe. In Japanese Youji groaned, "You got nothing. I was alone. I am just a tourist."

"If you were just a tourist," the voice said, "You've have broke and told us everything we ever wanted to hear. No tourist could go two weeks without food. We kept you awake for so long you babbled like a baby. If you were a tourist, you would have confessed to everything we asked of you. You're not a tourist."

"I'm just a tourist," Youji insisted. "Let me go!"

He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering in the cold.

"Well, if you want to go, there's only one way," the man said, throwing a pair of jeans and a button up shirt towards where Youji huddled on the floor. "You're never going to tell us anything. Get dressed."

"You're letting me go?" Youji asked, green eyes blinking as he struggled weakly to reach for the pants.

"Yeah, in a bag," the man said. "Get dressed. When they find your body, wouldn't want you to naked. Maybe, if you tell us something even remotely useful we might let you leave a last little note for your girlfriend. Aya? Don't you think she'd like to know a little of how you felt for her?"

He didn't know when he'd talked about Aya. He couldn't let Aya get caught! Hands shaking he ignored the man as he pulled on the shirt. "Leave my girlfriend alone! She's American! You can't touch her!"

"Well, that's nice to know," the man said. "Why were you in the United States? It's all over, you know? You might as well tell the truth."

"I was in the United States to visit my fiancée," Youji sobbed, buttoning the shirt out of order, "Please don't hurt her. She's delicate and kind of arrogant, but she's a good person. She's never done anything that wasn't for the good of good people."

"What has she done," the man asked, moving to help Youji put the jeans on as the captive was already exhausted. "Just tell us about her?"

"She's stubborn," Youji said, seeing Aya's face in his mind. "She's always got to be right and she reads a lot of poetry. I used to write her poetry and tell her it was written by some great poet, but I think she always knew it was me. It was just stupid love poetry. We fought the last time I saw her."

"Keep talking maybe we'll let you write out your last words to her. She'd like that, wouldn't she?"

"She fell out of love with me. She said I was unlovable," Youji said, unable stand on his own. "I got nothing to say to her. She's just a damn American, just like you."

"Oh, you hate Americans do you?" The man half dragged Youji out of the room. "You're going to talk a little more than that, Youji Fujimiya."

Youji hardly resisted as they strapped him down, but then it tipped, with his wrists strapped down, ankles restrained, and he thought… this is it.. 'I'm really going to die. I'm never going to tell Aya I'm sorry. I'm never going to see Omi again.' Then he struggled, panic reaching beyond all rational thought. He'd killed so many people. He'd tried to protect so many more. He'd wanted to love Aya and he had more poetry to write out for him. If he was going to die, he wanted to die fighting! He wanted to have his honor!

"This is what happens to stupid little rice eater who wouldn't help the good guys!"

Youji screamed and a cloth was shoved into his mouth, then plastic across his face. He kicked, struggling, and then they started with the water….

Omi had not given up. Cell phone to one ear, on the scrambled channel, "Aya, yes, yes, you were right. I've found him. He's in Syria."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

He was imagining the light. He liked imagining light, with a shadow that was Aya shaped. Those damn eartails. Maybe when he did die, he'd pass through a shadow like that and haunt Aya. He'd tell him to eat, watch his back when he was on missions. He'd talk to him in his dreams. Yeah. When he died, he'd give Aya a good piece of his mind. He'd lounge around on Aya's bed and make sure the man discovered all the erotic things that the red head had been too shy to do when they were together.

Time just had no meaning anymore and it wasn't granting any asked for favors.

Youji didn't die. He admitted to things he knew he'd never done. He admitted to raping a woman in Paris. He admitted to helping some group bomb a hospital. He wrote Aya's name with his own blood, laying on the floor of a cement block room. He wished he'd die.

When he opened his eyes his blood had dried his finger to the floor. As he tugged against the dried blood, it won and he lay there, his mind slowly coming back to him, even as his body faded. He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten into this. It had to have been months ago. Aya. Aya was so beautiful when he was angry. He was beautiful when he was sleeping. Aya's eyes were like the secrets told in the twilight, always held in an growing mystery. Aya. Youji tried to draw his hand back again as tears were stinging his face the salt seeping into cracked lips. His hand was still stuck. He really needed to get to haunting Aya soon. The man didn't know how to take care of himself if Youji wasn't there to complain at him. Look at how he'd been before they got together.

He faded a bit, floating into the last morning he'd been with Aya.

"I want you," Youji purred, one lazy arm laying over Aya's waist pulling his lover closer. "You want me, don't you, baby?"

"Youji" the soft, velvety voice murmured, "Put your arm around me. Open your eyes."

Youji rolled his eyes and laughed, "What a stupid thing to say. I was awake before you. Let's have sex, uh? You want me to blow you?" Youji grinned, wiggling into Aya's

He loved the way Aya smelled in the morning, sweet and male, and a little like leather, and his hair, like he generic lavender shampoo sometimes like the more expensive French shampoo. His hair hadn't smelled that way when hey went to bed. "Have you been using my shampoo?"

"Yes, actually, I have," Aya said, voice cold and full of anger. "Open your eyes, Kudou Youji or I will never have sex with you again."

"I'm awake! I told you. Look, I don't want to fight with you now. So just knock off bullying me. You know you like getting fucked, so don't threaten what you don't mean. Aya, baby, I think the night lasted too long! It feels like forever since I talked to you. You love me don't you? You're never going to stop, right?"

"I love you, Youji," Aya said, voice coming from above, not beside, which was disorienting for Youji. "I love you. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean what I said, Youji, please, open your eyes."

"Oh that's right," Youji whispered, remembering Aya's angry face. "No one would love me."

"I didn't mean what I said. I was stupid," Aya forcing one of Youji's eyes open. "Can you see me?"

"Of course," Youji said, reaching out to touch Aya where he lay on their bed, only to have the smiling Aya melt away like the dream he was. "Wait! NO! Come back!"

"I'm here, Youji. We're all here. We came with US Marines."

"Oh shit," Youji cursed, half begging, "Liar! You leave Aya alone! Bastard! I'll kill you!"

Youji's scream echoed in the cement room, but his strikes were weak and easy for Aya to block. "Youji, I've found you! Youji, please open your eyes! Try."

Aya lay next to Youji on the cold, bloody floor, an arm under his neck, his other arm over his chest, pinning his arms down. Shaking with anger and fear, Aya whispered against Youji's bruised cheek, "I am here. I am so sorry, but I've found you know and I'm going to take care of you. You're going to get better. You're going to take me dancing. I promise. I'll go with you. I'll wear make up. I'll kiss you while we're dancing. I'll fuck you in the parking lot like American teenagers. Anything Youji, just open your eyes for me please?"

"Aya?" Youji said, reaching for the sound of Aya's voice with broken fingers. "Why are you here? You have to get away. I'm going to come haunt you soon, but you better not be a ghost first. Dumbshit! Did you get yourself killed?"

"We're both alive," Aya promised. "There's an American doctor with us. There was a woman, a pregnant woman. She had to stabilize her first. You're going to be okay though. The targets gassed all the cells, when we attacked. Omi did his best to shut it back off, but I need you to open your eyes for me, please Youji."

"Omi's here too? You're really here?" Youji asked, his fingers clumsy against Aya's cheek, his eyes open, green and bloodshot and unfocused. "What good does it do to open my eyes in the dark, Aya? How are you going to tell if my eyes are open?"

"It'll be okay," Aya promised. "I've got to get something. Don't move Youji. Wait for me. I'm coming back and no one is going to hurt you anymore. I promise."

"Uh," Youji said more of a moan as Aya pulled away his warmth and support. "Aya…."

"Yes?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because I love you and I we searched the world for you. We're here to take you home."

Aya's boots echoed at a running pace and Youji was sure he'd never come back. It was a very nice dream though. A lovely dream. Maybe he wasn't completely evil if the universe would let him have a dream like that.


End file.
